Ruin and Sanity
by dismaynight
Summary: Not everyone has to suffer alone. Not everyone has to triumph alone. Sometimes it's better off. / SweeneyxOC, slight AU


The bell rang. Esme didn't need to turn around to guess who it was, but then she heard the footsteps against the wood. It frightened her at first, hearing the heavy, dragging, precautious gait that belonged to whatever stranger had just entered the shop. Then, as the footsteps stopped at the counter, she felt merely astonished. No one ever entered this particular shop -- unless they had some kind of complaint about the disappearing animals from the streets. …How were Esme and her partner supposed to know that the animals hadn't simply been abandoned?

And yet, there was a customer. Someone had finally come to try Mrs. Lovett's disgusting meat pies, and said woman wasn't even there to experience such an occurrence. But, then again, maybe it was best that Mrs. Lovett wasn't there. If the customer simply tried a pie, spat it upon the floor, and left in a disgusted, disgruntled fury, it might be a hard blow to Mrs. Lovett's already low self-esteem.

Esme decided then to greet and treat the customer -- it would be best this way. But just as she began to turn around, a sweet, fake smile on her face, the bell on the door rang again. She froze, and listened.

There was a gasp, and then--

"A customer!"

Esme turned around then. Mrs. Lovett stood at the door, her untamable hair pulled back as far as it could go. Her grin was priceless -- she hadn't seen a customer in what seemed like forever, especially a customer so… intriguing.

The man that had entered the shop must have been around average height for a male, and yet he held himself in such an intimidating way that he seemed very tall. He must have been in his forties, maybe late thirties, if his pale, weathered skin were any indication. His hair was even worse than Mrs. Lovett's, being rather… wild, and frizzy. It was black, but with a single streak of striking white on the top-right side of his head. His clothes were slightly ragged and very wrinkled, as if he had just been rescued from the ocean. And his eyes… his eyes were black, the depths containing great anger and struggle, with a sense of sleepless, thoughtful, endless nights.

Said man turned to leave at the sight of Mrs. Lovett's shocked and joyful expression.

"Wait!" exclaimed Mrs. Lovett. "What's your hurry? You gave me such a fright, I thought you might be a ghost -- won't you sit, sir? Ah, forgive me if me head's a little vague…!" She was in a flurry, trying to exterminate some annoying roaches and fetch the man a meat pie at the same time. It would have been rather comical if Esme had not been trying to figure out why this man seemed so _strangely _familiar….

"Here you are," said Mrs. Lovett, holding a dusty pie out for the man. He eyed it cautiously and took it from her. "Ugh -- we haven't seen a customer for weeks, sir. It's so refreshing to have you here. Mind you, I can hardly blame the people for avoiding this lot. These are probably the _worst_ pies in London, after all." The man sent her a strange look. "Don't believe me? Take a bite, go on…"

The man did so, and Esme could clearly see how much he regretted Mrs. Lovett's offer the instant the pie touched his tongue. Mrs. Lovett handed him a trash bin which he gladly spit the bite into. Esme opened the cupboard to prepare the man a glass of ale to wash down the horrid taste. She had expected this, as anyone who had known Mrs. Lovett for so long would. When she finished the task and gave it to him, he eyed her suspiciously and angrily, but gladly sipped the drink.

Mrs. Lovett sighed. "Ah, well. Live and learn, right? Or something like that, anyways…. Times is hard, sir, I must say. I don't think I've seen any currency in years, money's so scarce…"

The man stared at her, then at the ceiling, then at Esme. "There's a room above this shop, isn't there? If times are so hard, why don't you rent it out?"

"Oh, no, sir," said Mrs. Lovett, surprised. "People think it's haunted."

"…_Haunted_?"

"Yeah," she continued, pouring herself a glass of ale and leaning on the counter. "You see, something happened long ago… something…"

"…not very nice," Esme finished for her. Both Mrs. Lovett and the man looked at her then.

Mrs. Lovett turned back to the man. "You see, there was this barber and his wife. He was… beautiful -- a proper artist with a knife. Barker, his name was. Benjamin Barker. But he was transported out of London for life."

"What was his crime?" said the man, a strange, far-off look in his eyes.

"Foolishness," said Esme, eyes locked onto the man.

Mrs. Lovett nodded and continued. "His wife was a silly little nit; had the chance for the moon on a string, but there was also this judge, you see, and his Beadle. They wanted her like mad -- every day they sent her a flower, but she wouldn't budge. Then, one night, Beadle came and told her that the judge was all contrite, and she must come straight to his house. She went, but, of course, they were having this masquerade ball -- all in masks. Poor thing wandered about, trying to find the judge, and she drank a tad too much. She kept asking around but she simply was no match for Judge Turpin's craftiness... Everyone there just stood and laughed, thinking she had to be daft or something. Poor soul, poor thing--"

"_NO!!_" the man screamed, standing in agony and anger. He turned away from the women, his head in his hand. "…Would no one have mercy on her…?"

It dawned on her then. Of course… this man was--

"So it is you…" said Mrs. Lovett. "Benjamin Barker…"

"No. Not Barker. That man is dead. It's Todd, now. Sweeney Todd… and he will have his revenge."


End file.
